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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196891">cat face pen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rawritsamehh/pseuds/Rawritsamehh'>Rawritsamehh</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>2009, Introspection, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:00:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,473</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196891</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rawritsamehh/pseuds/Rawritsamehh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan deals with coming home after his first trip to see Phil.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dan Howell/Phil Lester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>cat face pen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>happy pinof anniversary, everyone!  ^__^</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dan’s on his bed, his bag still at his feet on the floor. He dropped it there hours ago. He sees no point in moving it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The house is empty for now, and for that Dan is grateful. If he had to explain the sounds of crying to his brother, he honestly doesn’t know what he would say. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dan isn’t even sure what to call the emotion he’s feeling. It aches, deep in his chest, but at the same time he’s still feeling the lingering happiness from the past three days. Then...there’s the guilt. The guilt of knowing how much he enjoyed his time away. The guilt of how much he enjoyed who he spent time with, and what they did. It’s like there’s a war raging in his head and he doesn’t know who’s side to be on. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He also feels a bit numb. Almost like he left his spirit or soul or some bullshit up north, in Phil’s bedroom, while his body made the journey alone. It definitely feels like he’s missing a large piece of himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a creak from his door, and then fluff against his legs and a lick to his hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey there.” Dan says solemnly. He gives the old dog some pets before watching him go back out into the hall, likely to go back to his nap. Dan is envious; even if he wanted to, there’s no way he could sleep right now. How is he expected to sleep ever again when he knows how it feels to be absolutely wrapped up and engulfed by Phil? There was so much warmth– literal and figurative warmth– and now he just feels bitter and cold. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a sigh, Dan does eventually get up. He figures he might as well make himself some coffee if he’s going to sit around and mope. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>———</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dan sits on his floor, eyes closed and head laid back. He’s tossing his phone from hand to hand. He really wants to text Phil, to ring Phil perhaps, but his mind won’t calm down. He doesn’t want to be too annoying, or clingy. They were practically glued together the entire visit, but what if Phil needs space now? Dan texted him on the train, even though it was mostly nonsense, so shouldn’t that be enough for now? Phil likely was ready to get some distance between them, Dan knows he can be a lot to handle. That’s what everyone’s told him, anyway. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s mid-toss when the phone vibrates and drops onto the carpet. He scrambles to pick it up and opens his messages. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>phil:</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> i miss u &lt;3 </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dan’s eyes immediately flood with tears. All of the indescribable emotions are still plaguing him, but the pain in his chest may be the worst of them all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wishes more than anything that he was back in that room– in that </span>
  <em>
    <span>bed</span>
  </em>
  <span>– but he isn’t. So, he does the next best thing and presses the green call button. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I miss you too, Phil.”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>———</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dan heard the door open a while ago. No one has come up to say anything, but he knows they know he’s home. He doesn’t really want to go downstairs, either, so really this is just fine. He wants to be alone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s looking into his mirror, searching for any signs of the things he did up north. He feels like it’s written clear as day all over his face, and that anyone would be able to see right away. Upon inspection, though, his face looks….remarkably normal. It’s just his face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The call with Phil helped some, but Phil wasn’t able to talk for long. His parents were returning soon and he had to clean the house from their shenanigans. Another pang of guilt hit Dan over that; he hates that he left Phil with the mess. Neither of them wanted to leave bed before he had to leave, though, and he doesn’t regret that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now, Dan is just standing aimlessly. He knows there are things he should do– unpack his bag, take a shower, hell he can’t even remember if he ate at all today– but he can’t. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The thought of a shower actually hurts him. He still smells like Phil’s body wash, and he’s terrified that a shower will erase the memories of Phil from his skin. He knows it’s absurd and ridiculous, but his time with Phil was just too good to be true. He had to hold onto whatever he can to remind himself that it’s real, and that it happened. He needed to remember that he was happy. Those moments are precious and he wants to guard them with his life. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He ends up compromising with himself and unpacks his bag. It’s just a messenger bag; he didn’t pack much, he was afraid of making it more obvious to others that he would be going home with Phil. Dan wishes the thought didn’t terrify him, he wishes he could’ve freely hugged Phil as much as he’d wanted to in public. Maybe even a few kisses, even. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe next time</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks. There’s already plans for him to attend the Halloween YouTuber gathering, which he truly doesn’t feel like he belongs at, but they’ll be with other people all day and night. Maybe that’ll be a good time to push his boundaries some. Phil assured him that a lot of the crowd is pretty accepting, but Dan can’t fathom that being true. It certainly hasn’t been his own experience. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Opening the flap, he pulls out the wrinkled clothing and tosses it onto the floor. A pair of underwear with a telltale stain falls out and he feels himself blush at the memory. They were on Phil’s bed, in just their pants, when they made each other come for the first time, followed by so much warmth and comfort and the feeling of just...feeling </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s something he hopes he won't ever forget.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes his head and tosses them into the clothes pile. Next he grabs his laptop and the tangled wires of chargers and headphones, and the few toiletries he took along. Dan smiles as he remembers deliberately not taking any body wash or shampoo, and telling Phil he forgot to bring them. The shower that followed was really, really fucking nice. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At the bottom of his bag laid one single item. It was small, something that isn’t even his and he doesn’t recall packing. It likely ended up inside a piece of clothing, which isn’t shocking. His clothes were strewn all across Phil’s floor; it’s a wonder none of Phil’s clothes made it into his bag. He almost wishes it had. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No, the item isn’t any piece of clothing. Instead it’s a simple faded black marker. The writing on it is hardly legible; it was just something Phil brought back from Uni, likely bought years ago. As Dan picks it up, he thinks of all of the things it’s probably seen: countless projects and papers, notes to a variety friends and classmates and housemates, details on boxes as Phil’s possessions moved from room to room and house to house, Phil’s name written on pieces of tape slapped onto film equipment, doodles on skin and notebooks, and eventually...whiskers on two excited, terrified, infatuated boys late at night in the middle of October. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tears slowly fall down his cheeks as he remembers Phil’s giggle over explaining the whole whiskers thing. Photos on dailybooth flash through his mind, back when Dan started to get brave with his comments. He can almost feel the warmth and ease of Phil cradling his jaw in his hand while he drew the marks onto his face. Or, even better, when he held Phil’s to return the favor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The memory of how delighted he felt when the marks began to smudge and fade, knowing that he was the cause of it, hits him pretty hard. Phil has his work cut out for him when he goes to edit the video, and that’s an understatement. Neither of them could resist the other. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dan wipes his face and places the marker onto his side table with a smile. He kicks the empty bag to the side, grabs his laptop and climbs into bed. Sure, there’s many things he probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> do right now instead, but he really doesn’t fucking care. There’s a boy, far too many miles away, that he misses with his whole damn heart. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He has Skype open and ringing before he can even think twice. Phil’s face fills the screen almost immediately, bright and smiling, and the thought of Phil waiting for him to call– tucked away in those stupidly vibrant sheets– it brings all the emotions back full force. He smiles and tries to keep his tears from falling. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Dan!!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t work, but that’s alright. Phil understands.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
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